


Line From a Country Song

by lunarweather



Series: Words to Live By [3]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst is my bread and butter, Barney Barton is not a good bro, Circus of Crime - Freeform, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint and Natasha are not soulmates, F/M, Fluff and happiness mostly implied, I promise, Insecure Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha only acts like she knows everything, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, it just happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarweather/pseuds/lunarweather
Summary: Clint Barton had one soulmark and when they met he was going to shake their hand, walk away and hopefully never see them again.He was pretty sure he’d heard that exact sentiment sung over the radio growing up in Iowa and he couldnt help thinking that his life too often sounded like a line from a country song.Clint's life leading up to 'Words to Live Your Life By'.Separation Re-post from my What We Look for Story. I realized too late it should be its own separate part.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously posted reviews are at the end of the chapter.

 

 

Clint Barton had one soulmark and when they met he was going to shake their hand, walk away and hopefully never see them again.

He was pretty sure he’d heard that exact sentiment sung over the radio growing up in Iowa. Over the years he’d moved a far distance from that small town where everyone couldn’t help but know each other’s business but he couldn’t seem to shake his country roots and found himself, more often than not, unconsciously turning the radio dial until he lost himself in memories and either turned it off in annoyance or started laughing at the fact that his life too often sounded like a line from a country song.

 

**_~ Sometimes it's hard to be a woman, giving all your love to just one man, you'll have bad times and he'll have good times, doin things that you don't understand but if you love him you'll forgive him. Stand by your man. ~_ **

Stand by your man? What kind of shit advise was that? There are lots of reasons not to stand by your man. A very obvious one being he’s a mean drunk who roughs you up and makes you feel like a piece of crap half the time. But, hey, there’s a 50/50 chance he’s not going to come home and yell at you so stick it out, honey.

Clint’s mom was too forgiving.

It wasn’t like life was a continuous yelling, beer and bruise-fest. Not all memories of his father were bad but the good were always coupled with opposing memories. Like the times when he and Barney helped work on his father’s truck, checking the fluid levels, changing the oil; Clint would smile at the memory then remember hearing the truck pull into the driveway late at night knowing it was going to be one of the bad nights. Seeing him twirl his mom while they were dancing at the county fair, then seeing him slam her into the wall, knocking a picture down. It was those good memories that Clint hated the most. They were used as excuses to stay when they had every reason to leave.

“Don’t be silly, of course your father loves me. You saw the flowers he bought me. Nancy down the street never gets flowers from her husband.”

Maybe they wouldn’t have even needed good memories to stay, Clint didn’t know, not with the way his mom had felt about soulmates. And shouldn’t that have made that whole situation worse, that they were soulmates and Harold still treated her that way?

Soulmates or not, they both had very different ideas about what that meant.

His mother had explained some of it one night while tucking him in, “Whoever they are, Clint, your soulmate needs what you have to become their best self. You complete them. Like a puzzle. They need pieces from you to finish their picture. You like puzzles don’t you sweetie?”

Clint had nodded, not understanding how dangerous her reasoning could be.

His mom paused, though, when he asked, “Is dad helping you be your best self?”

Her smile became more sad, “He’s doing his best but it’s hard for him right now, he’s struggling with work and everything. It would be selfish of me to give up on him just because times gets tough, not when we can all see how wonderful he can be.”

In her eyes, you lived for your soulmate. And Mr.‘he can be wonderful’ saw her as a guarantee. They were soulmates, so she’d never leave him, no matter what he would do. Maybe they grew up hearing the same things or Harold just knew her better than she knew him. Maybe they were actually meant for each other. She was destined to give him everything she had and he was destined to take it and wrap them around that tree.

 

**_~ Well it’s a winding road when you’re in the lost and found. ~_ **

In the foster system, Clint felt like a lost toy that different people kept buying from a thrift store, all excited, until they realized they hadn’t looked as closely as they should have and there’s a flaw, so they just donate it back.

Clint would fix it, he tried, he did, but the flaw was different at each foster home and he couldn’t figure it out before they’ve already sent him and Barney packing. Barney went along with it at first, trying to fool the fosters into keeping them, the good ones at least. Some were indifferent to the boys presence but there were a few where they purposefully got sent back to the group home. It was harder to get kicked out of the fosters they didn’t like. Clint stayed up crying a few times knowing only the bad ones  seemed to want to keep them. Not even because they wanted the brothers themselves, usually it was the extra money the state provided. Barney stopped caring after a while and as cute as they claimed Clint was, he couldn’t convince them to like them, not if they wanted to stay together.

Clint didn’t know that was an option, being separated from Barney, but Barney didn’t look surprised so they must have already mentioned it to him. The idea that they were talking to his brother and not him was upsetting. Sure, Barney was fourteen at that point but Clint was ten, he could handle it.

He had already learned a lot. He’d stopped romanticizing soulmates by the fourth home, stopped seeing his parents as a fluke. Soulmates used kids to try and save their marriage just like any other couple. Soulmates didn’t mean love and happily ever after like in the fairytales. Nice people weren’t the only ones who found their soulmates. Horrible people also had soulmates who could be equally horrible. And sometimes they seemed more perfect for each other than the ones that pretended everything was perfect.

The Jensens were like that. They were the last fosters the brothers had. He didn’t like the way Mr. Jensen looked at him or way the way Mrs. Jensen wouldn’t look at them at all, her eyes passing right through them. The house felt worse and worse as the weeks passed. Nothing they did would get them sent back to the group home. The bruises began piling up and one night Clint found himself locked out for the night because he refused to come down from a tree. The branches were too small for anyone to follow him up. At some point in the night Barney came for him, fresh bruises showing under his collar, with both of their bags packed. They didn’t care enough to even look back.

 

**_~Goin' places that I've never been, seein' things that I may never see again, and I can't wait to get on the road again...like a band of Gypsies we go down the highway~_ **

The circus was a new world. It was like actually being in the Wizard of Oz movie, once you stepped through the door the world filled with color and magic. Barney said it was a hard sell, getting them jobs, but they refused to leave. They slept under the stars most nights that first summer, eating food from the ground and the trash, working small jobs here and there, adding more and more to the list until they were invited to the meals and offered a place to sleep.

As a whole, the people he met in the circus were surprisingly normal. Clint was ten when they joined up so he had very childlike expectations that never really went away but definitely evened out after working behind the scenes of the show. As everyday as people lives and problems ended up being one thing that was very different were the soulmates. The conjoined Bandi twins, for example, Janos and Gellert, and their soulmate Cecily. All obviously Romantic. They were very very open about it. Cecily claimed she was never attracted to anyone before she met the twins, calling it soulsexual.

A clown, two of the acrobats, the juggling cousins and Joe who ran the ring toss had something going on, Clint decided not to look too closely but he knew most of them shared soulmarks with at least one person in the group, if not more.

One of the acrobats was part of a sideshow act, they couldn’t call them freak shows anymore but that’s how people would look at Cedro and Clint didn’t like it. Cedro was the most caring person he had ever met, always there with a kind word, or encouragement, volunteering to teach Clint tumbling and other body work. Cedro’s part of the act was straightforward, he was an oddity so he would simply enter the room and drop his robe. The audience would gasp, followed by murmurs of disapproval and leers. He had twenty-seven soulmarks; had met 24 of them by the time Clint came along, 26 two years later. While he kept in touch with all of them, they were all only friends.

“Maybe the last one will be your romantic.” Clint told him once, thinking he was offering encouragement.

“I hope not.”

At Clint’s confusion he continued, “I will die soon after I meet my last. Marie told me. It would be a shame to leave someone so heartbroken.”

Marie was one of the psychics. Clint understood most of the time it was a big show, live up the expectations of the townies, reading body language, facial expressions, telling people what they wanted to hear. Marie though, she specialized in soulmarks and as far as Clint could tell it was the real deal. Her council was given the highest respect in the troupe.

“Well then maybe you won’t meet them until you’re ninety-nine.”

“Maybe,” but Cedro’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

It was during their winter break the next year that he met number 27 and less than a day later he was dead. A brain tumor. Cedro’s family didn’t actually live that far away from their winter camp in Florida and it was at the funeral when Clint finally heard the full story. People spoke of fate and destiny. Cedro was twenty-seven when he learned about the tumor, it couldn’t be removed and it was malignant. At that point he had only met two of his soulmates, both before he was ten. To cheer him up, his friends took him to the circus. He met three more soulmates that night. Cedro took it as a sign. He left his established life and got a job at the circus. Over the next eight years he met them all when they came to the circus. All twenty-seven of them were at the funeral, each given a chance to stand to tell everyone how Cedro had influenced their lives.

He couldn’t help thinking of his mother. She had given everything to her soulmate. Cedro had seemingly given up his life for his. Instead of choosing to hide away hoping to hold off his death for as long as possible, he went after them, knowing with each one he would be closer to death.

 

**_~Oh, I bet you think you're John Wayne. Showing up and shooting down everybody. You're classic in the wrong way, And we all know the end of the story, 'Cause everyone knows someone who kills the buzz, Every time they open up their mouth~_ **

The Swordsman, despite the name, dealt with more than just swords, though that alone was a sight to behold, but for crowd pleasing purposes he also threw knives. Which was where Clint was brought into the act. His known lack of self preservation made him perfect for target practice, or that’s what Barney said when he volunteered eleven year old Clint for the job. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Jacq wasn’t such an asshole. He was a Blank, which wouldn’t normally mean anything but he really lived up to the old beliefs that the Unmarked lacked a soul. His showmanship was on point but he did little to keep up the act away from the crowds. It was clear he would have been booted years ago if his act didn’t draw such big crowds. It could have been worse for Clint. Jacq caught him practicing with some of his extra throwing knives and the man had only got a few hits in before he noticed the knives sticking out of the tree’s knot. Clint was pulled off most of his other jobs and put with Jacq full time, which, again, could have been worse because while Clint was still given short commands like he was a dog, the man began treating him like he had potential and Clint didn’t know what to do with that. He was terrified of screwing it up, of Jacq realizing, like the fosters had, that he’d made a mistake taking on Clint and cutting him loose. But no matter how much he did wrong, which was a lot apparently, Jacq still kept him. He threatened to drop Clint plenty of times but somehow he was able to fix whatever he had done wrong and Jacq kept him. Clint was too grateful to complain about anything else. Not the extra long practices into the night or punishments for missing. He could deal with things like a few extra bruises, that was nothing new and he had never expected anything else like he had with his dad. Jacq was his mentor not his dad. It was a ‘working relationship’, as Barney put it the one and only time Clint had said anything.

When Clint thought he was getting the hand of the act Jacq would change it up, like giving Clint a bow. Jacq and Chisholm had been talking (making bets) and wanted to see if Clint’s aim would transfer to a bow and arrow. Clint tried to play it cool, he probably failed, but he had been wanting to get a hand on one of Trick Shot’s bows since he first saw him practicing. The older man had started using crossbows and guns more in his act because of a shoulder injury but he never fully took out the bow. Clint would pass by and almost hear the bow begging to be picked up. He wished he could say he’d hit the bullseye on the first shot, or the second, third, or fifteenth, but there was a different set of rules he had to learn. So he didn’t hit the center and make it stick until the fourth day. He couldn’t help but smirk, after going through the entire quiver and hitting the two inner circles every time, when Chisholm grudgingly handed Jacq a roll of bills.

Clint threw knives with precision, perfected each move of the sword dances, even learned to shoot six shooters and rifles but nothing felt as pure as when he had his bow in his hand. And it was his bow now. Trick Shot taught him how to make his own. The man was a seemingly endless fountain of knowledge when it came to archery and Clint couldn’t get enough.

It wasn’t long before he had a headline act with Jacq and Chisholm. The Amazing Hawkeye vs. The Swordsman and Trick Shot. They raised the bleachers turning the center into an arena for a battle to the death, or that’s how it looked. Jacq deflecting arrows with his sword, Hawkeye turning his arrows around barriers, Trick Shot shooting his colt backwards. The audience loved it and Clint road the high until it dropped him hard.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathywing - my poor baby clint! also i love this fic! please continue soon  
> Midnighter_dc - I love all the detail you've put into his childhood.  
> Zenrawings - This is so good! I love the worldbuilding you've done!  
> Dragonfire78 - I am real excited to see more of this! Seeing how each of them perceive their soulmarks is really fascinating, and I can’t wait for them to all come together!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments!
> 
> This is a pretty angsty chapter. It's not a happy time in Clint's life. That will come in the next one.
> 
>  
> 
> Previously posted reviews are at the end of the chapter.

 

 

**_~Blame the heart for the hurtin', blame the hurtin' on the heart, blame the dark on the devil, blame the devil on the dark, Blame my reason on my name, blame my name on my reason, but it ain't my fault~_ **

Around the time Clint turned fifteen things began changing. The circus got a new owner, Carson didn’t even say goodbye. Clint should have questioned it, many of the others did. With the new owner came a whole new crew to expand the troupe; new acts that only performed half the time and disappeared for days or weeks randomly. He didn’t see the Ringmaster very often but when he did it was usually to see Clint practice and he would see the man giving him appraising looks he didn’t understand.

Somehow Jacq became worse, even more aggressive, insisting Clint learn hand to hand from the new ones, who were just about as pleasant as Jacq. He started Clint on long distance shots with his bow and rifle. Clint didn’t question it out-loud but he wasn’t stupid, they couldn’t use these kind of shots for an act. But he was too close to it all to see straight, right in the thick of it.

Barney, who had picked up the crossbow and throwing knives over the years to help with the act as an extra, began disappearing with the others, as did Jacq. Then one day Barney brought him in on it and told him not to screw it up. Clint had spent too many years listening to his brother to stop now. They had each other’s backs. They stayed together.

They started Clint out easy, breaking into some houses. It didn’t take much convincing; sleight of hand and picking pockets was just something Clint thought came with the life they lived. Take some from the well off to even it out. This was just the next step. But then houses became businesses, became facilities. Clint went from simply keeping watch, to actively covering their escape.

In that time there was a lot of turnover at the circus. The old troupe might have not known what was going on exactly but they knew something was happening and most of them wanted nothing to do with it so they started packing up.

Marie was one of them.

Clint went to see her that night while she was loading up her old station wagon.

She tried to turn him away, but he was persistent, even helped her pack.

“I tell the outsiders otherwise but I cannot help you find your soulmate, Clint. You will meet them only when you are meant to, no matter what I say.”

“I don’t need to know any of that. I just want to know what you see. You told Cedro when he would die but you also told Abby to trust her soulmate more than anyone  and I’ve heard you tell townies whether or not their soulmate is cheating on them. How does it work?”

Marie leaned against the bumper, folding her arms, “The marks tell me about the connection. I saw Cedro’s death because his unspoken marks kept him alive. The marks whisper secrets to me. Is the bond strong? Does one prey off the other? I don’t always choose what I am shown. Others like me are stronger but I only see, so I warn. I do what I can to help.”

Clint’s shoulders dropped, “I guess I don’t actually need help. I just…”

“Waited until now to ask. Why? Other than the children you are one of the few who hasn’t at least asked. Even your brother came.”

“He did?” Clint asked, surprised. Barney never talked about his soulmark unless it was an angry rant. Like Clint, their parent’s relationship had left a bitter taste, leaving them wary of their own future mates. He told Marie as much.

“I’ve known too many bad soulmates,” he said, simply. “They don’t seem like anything special.” Except when they were. “I mean, you said I’m going to meet them anyway.” Now he was rambling and sounded like he didn’t want her help. “I kept talking myself out of asking. It’s not a big deal,” he finished lamely.

Marie shook her head, looking sad, “You don’t need any help, huh? Come.” She motioned in front of her, “Stand here.”

She closed her eyes when he complied and raised her hand, holding it up to his chest. Her palm began to give off a soft, almost imperceptible, white glow and slowly, her hand moved down until it hovered over his upper right thigh where his soulmark was written. Her brow furrowed, fingers twitching but never getting closer.

She opened her eyes, the frown still in place, “Such imbalance.”

Clint mirrored her frown, “Imbalance? I haven’t even met them.”

“Yet it already exists.”

Clint worried his lip, “What does that mean? Like they’re going to be someone who has power over me? Like a boss or something?”

Marie gave a small smile, “All soulmates have power over each other, it is inherent. All roads lead you to them. But who will you be when the time has come to speak? What will you do when it is spoken? That is your choice.”  

“So, I can fix the imbalance, whatever that means?”

Marie tilted her head, “Or make it worse.”

Clint threw his hands up,“So how does knowing this help me?”

Marie sighed, “How did knowing help Cedro? I said I try to help. I cannot make outward changes but I can sometimes guide.” She got up, closing the back door and turned back to him, her gaze locking him in place and asked, “Who will you be Clint, when the time comes?” Before climbing into the front and driving away.

 

**_~I won't be much when you get through with me, well I'm a losing weight and a turning mighty pale. Looks like I've got a tiger by the tail~_ **

Clint was a punk teenager who didn’t bother thinking too hard on Maria’s council. He was too busy surviving. He felt like an invisible weight was pressing him down, squeezing his chest so he couldn’t breathe. The feeling started small, he barely noticed it at first but it grew with each job, each shot he took. He wouldn’t kill anyone. They never even asked for that. He went for legs or shoulders to incapacitate, hands to disarm. He did his job and he didn’t ask questions; Barney’s rule number one. Clint figured the less he knew the less he could tell. He was so naive. He didn’t kill anyone but he had no idea what happened in the buildings, didn’t care to know until one of the newer ones came back covered in blood.

The man was one of the oddities, sharpened teeth, feline eyes.  

No one seemed shocked. Just a simple, “You got a little carried away this time. Keep it simple next time.”

This time. Next time.

Clint threw up outside the tent. Then Barney herded him back to their trailer as the others looked on.

“What the hell was that?” Barney snapped, “Are you trying to make us look stupid?”

“Stupid?” Clint croaked, “He killed someone! How did… did he rip someone apart? How is he covered in blood?” He stomach rolled but he kept it down.

“You really are stupid aren’t you? What did you think was going on in there?”

“You told me not to think about it! Do my part and come back. And they’ve been killing people this entire time?” Clint stopped as a thought hit him and he stared wide eyed at Barney. He could barely get the words out, “Have you been…” he swallowed, “Did you kill someone?”

Barney paused, “Not tonight.”

“But you have before, oh my god,” panic began to take over, “Barney we can’t stay here, we’ve got to leave. We can’t-”

“Can’t what, Clint. Keep doing the same thing we’ve been doing for the past few years? Give me a break. Nothing’s changed. You just know more now. Time to grow up baby bro.”

“No,” Clint couldn’t stop shaking his head, “No way. I’m done. I’m not going to-”

Barney slammed him back against the trailer wall and held him there. “Yes you are you little shit,” Barney snarled, “You’re not going to pussy out on me. You’re going to keep doing your damn job and we’re going to keep getting paid.”  
“I’m not going to kill anyone.”

Barney laughed, “What do you think Duquesne’s been training you for? He wanted you in right away but I know you, you needed to be eased into it. A few years ago you would never have shot anyone but now look at you. You took out that one guy’s knee. He’s crippled for life. Give it some more time and you’ll be going for the heart.”

Clint wanted to deny it but the words wouldn’t come out. Look what he had already done. But, no, he would never kill someone, he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Clint tried to lash out in anger and fear, he tried to run, but Barney stopped him. Clint was all lean muscle, built from the bow and the show but Barney was built like their dad, large and solid. Clint felt like he was back there with him when Barney laid into him, yelling and cussing.

Barney slammed the door behind him, leaving Clint a mess on the floor, crying and spitting blood.

His hands were fine. So were his eyes. Barney wouldn’t damage what they needed.

He was also right, just another thing he had in common with their dad, he seemed to know Clint better than Clint knew him back. But his first kill shot wasn’t the heart. His brother spun around too late to stop the man about to knife him in the back only to find there was an arrow already sticking out of his attackers throat.

Clint felt the weight settle over his heart. He had his brother’s back.

 

**_~Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn't you love to love her? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and who will be her lover? All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win?~_ **

Alright, so that one didn’t belong to Clint.

Samantha was the surprise no one anticipated.

Barney was working through the crowd one night, when they didn’t have an outside job, and the next moment he’d met his soulmate.

Clint didn’t see the moment but he saw the aftermath.

Samantha was beautiful and soft in jeans and a floral print top. Her smile shown like a light as she looked up at him, her arm almost permanently hooked onto his.

And Barney... looked lost. It was brushed aside by Samantha and her friends as shock. But Clint couldn’t remember the last time his brother had looked like he was going to cry.

They had a schedule to keep so they couldn’t up and leave that night like Barney insisted after she had left. She came back every day to see him, barely leaving his side, praising him when she finally got him to show off the skills he had learned at the circus.

Clint watched from a tree as Barney blushed, a shy smile forming.

They packed up the next morning in record time and were on the road before she showed up. Barney was tense the entire time. He didn’t start to relax until they had stopped for the night.The next morning Samantha was there, suitcase in hand, throwing herself into Barney’s arms. She was coming with them. She wanted to be with Barney. She didn’t care what she had to do or where she had to go to keep him.

Clint might have been the only one to see the fear, the flash of panic on his face for one fleeting moment.

He left her crying in the dirt, yelling that he didn’t want her and how she better not come looking for him again.

She didn’t.

He spent the next few weeks in a bottle and Clint made sure he stayed the hell away the whole time, sleeping under the stars again but still close enough to keep an eye on him.

He couldn’t help but wonder what Marie had said to Barney all those years ago, he didn’t dare ask at that point.

Leaving that sweet girl was probably the single most unselfish thing Barney had ever done.

Clint tried not to hate her a little for it, wishing Barney could be that selfless with him and let him go too.

 

**_~And I wonder, would I give my life, could I make that sacrifice. If it came down to it, could I take the bullet, I would, yes I would, for you~_ **

Clint’s time with the Circus of Crime was a plane crash waiting to happen and boy did it crash.

He may have been a murderer at this point and crossed lines he said he never would, but there were some lines that weren’t really a choice, they were a fact. And the fact was Clint wasn’t a child murderer. He also wouldn’t let someone else kill a child if he could stop it.

And he did.

That was how he ended up being restrained by that mutant feral psycho under the big top while his fate was decided. At least that’s what he thought was happening. He had taken a blow to the head that had finally stopped bleeding and was having difficulty following everything that was being said, especially when Lionman (he even had a loser name) kept running his fangs along Clint’s throat and...yep, he licked the blood. Freaking psycho.

“I already told you I wouldn’t join your little group.”

Clint’s attention focused like a laser when he heard that voice. Trick Shot. Held between two guys. When had he even gotten there?

“That hasn’t changed. I won’t kill for you.”

Clint felt shame wash over him. Buck had stood his ground, hadn’t compromised. Why would he? In the least, he would never disgrace his soulmate’s memory. Buck spoke of her often. She’d been trampled by a horse when they worked the Renaissance Faire circuit. They had been together for almost thirty years. Clint wasn’t a teenager anymore but he was still just some punk kid who tried to charm anyone who said his mark into bed. He cared more about his brother’s love and approval than someone else’s life. Buck knew exactly who he was and Clint didn’t know shit.

The Ringmaster laughed, “Why would we want you when Hawkeye here has twice your skill? No, you’re only here as an object lesson old man.”

Buck was forced back against the king pole, his arms held tight behind him, and Clint’s stomach dropped.

“No.”

Clint strained against the arms that held him, “Jacq, no, please, Barney.” Jacq looked on in disgust while Barney at least turned away. His head snapped to the side from a blow and when he looked back the Ringmaster’s face was only a foot away from his own.

“You talk to me, not them. They decide nothing.”  
“Please, sir,” he quickly added, to the obvious satisfaction of the man, “Don’t do this. He didn’t do anything. It was me.”

“Yes it was, but you’ve got to learn somehow.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint cried, “I can learn. I can-”

“Finish the job?”

Clint wanted to agree to anything if it meant getting Buck out of there but he choked on the words. There was no way he could say it with enough conviction to make them believe him, let alone actually do it.

“I can’t. Something else, please.”

“There are consequences when you don’t follow through Hawkeye. When you get in the way. And it’s time you learned them.”

He motioned to Jacq, who didn’t even hesitate to pull out one of his throwing knives. He’d worked with Buck for over a decade and he didn’t even hesitate.

They were going to kill Buck.

Marie’s final words filled his mind.  _‘Who will you be, Clint, when the time comes?’_

He was in the arena, a fight the death, but this time it was real.

When you work out of sight, from a distance, people can forget you actually know how to fight close up. Clint slammed his head back into the feral’s face as he pulled one of his own throwing knives free from its hidden sleeve. The restraining grip fell away and both knives were in the air. He heard the cling as they collided mid air but he was already moving, two more knives for the men holding Buck. He didn’t think, he just did. His bow was back in his hands, guns were going off and people were dropping and not with crippling knee shots. Arrows were sticking out of skulls and chests.

Buck had gotten out and sent the rest of the innocent troupe scattering, there was no staying for anyone after this. The tent was on fire and Clint vaguely remembered hitting the gas tank on the generator. Everyone was running now. The fire would bring the authorities and there wouldn’t be enough time to get rid of the bodies scattered around the ring.

Clint had injuries, he was sure, but the adrenaline was burning through the pain; until it shot through his back dropping him to his knees.

He was outside the trailer, the only light coming from the fire and the headlights of the fleeing vehicles. The knife was pulled free from his shoulder and he was kicked the rest of the way to the ground. He wasn’t ready for what he saw when he rolled to his feet.

Barney’s face was contorted in rage as he held the bloody knife. His brother came at him and he defended himself, fought for his life, but could do no more than that. He couldn’t process it all. The disbelief, the pain.

The distant sirens separated them; Barney running for a car and Clint into the trailer to grab what he could before heading into the woods.

He pulled his bag tight over the makeshift bandage, hoping the bleeding would stop soon, or at least slow down.

In the end his brother had his back as well, even if for nothing more than a target.

 

**_~Starting over again, where should they begin, 'cause they never been out on their own. Starting over again, where do you begin when your dreams are all shattered~_ **

Clint held his broken bow in his arms. Barney had cracked it with his foot but Clint couldn’t leave it behind. It wasn’t his first bow but it was still made by his own hands and it was the first he hadn’t outgrown before he was done with it. He ran his hands over the smooth finish, then gripped it as if he was about to shoot, aligning the words carved into the wood with the ones tattooed into his palm. ‘ _Pick me up_ ’ over ‘  _There you are beautiful_ ’. ‘  _You’re mine_ ’ had been carved into his first one. They changed with each bow, but their words to him were always the same as that first time.

With a sigh he put the bow into the hole he had dug and covered it with dirt.

He needed to get patched up, keep moving. Everything was a blur and he didn’t know exactly who survived the night. His formal education may have been shit but he knew how to survive in the world. Yet he couldn’t seem to even lift his head to begin.

Everything was gone. Barney. The circus. Buck. Even his bow. What was he even good for now?

The blood on his hands answered that in a way he couldn’t ignore. He couldn’t join the military, who knew what the police were making of the mess back at camp. He had gathered as many arrows from the bodies as he could but he could have missed one in the rush, so there was a chance he was at least going to be a suspect.

His hand unconsciously rubbed over the spot on his leg where  **Hey.**  was inscribed. He would probably always be a mess, that hadn't changed in his entire life so far, but he would do better, be better. If for nothing else than his soulmate deserved someone who wasn’t murdering innocent people.

Not that he was going to stay with them, Barney had that right at least. Maybe, in the long run, meeting Samantha would help his brother. Clint had seen a change in him in those few days they were together, the potential to be something other than what he had become. But that didn’t change who he was right now.

And nothing changed who Clint was now. But there was also no one to tell him what to do, who to be. He had relied too much on Barney to define who he was and now it was only Clint. No one to blame but himself. No one’s choices to screw him over but his own.

He was doomed.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathywing - Clint had a hard life! poor babe!   
> love this fic  
> Amusederaser - Can’t wait for the next up date. Wonderful job :)  
> Midnighter_dc - Yass! Your Circus!Clint is amazing, and needs a hug. Barney is a dick and I want to punch him in the face.  
> Dragonfire78 - Poor Clint!! So young and lost in the world with no sign as to who his soulmate might be! I loved this chapter! Keep up that fantastic work!


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

**_~Baby, If I had to choose my best day ever, my finest hours, my wildest dream come true. Mine would be you.~_ **

Going after the Black Widow was probably the stupidest things he’d ever done. Granted, he was also too stupid at the time to know that. He was riding high on his own fame. Again. Damn it. Just more proof that he shouldn’t be in charge of himself. But that wasn’t giving him enough credit. For the last three years he’d made quite the name for himself as the assassin for hire that never missed. And didn’t that just sound awesome? Assassin. Of course he never took hits on actual nice people but he had people believing it was pride that stopped him from taking those jobs, claiming he wanted the impossible shots.

And he definitely didn’t take jobs with vague details of the mark...anymore. Killing ‘short man with purple bowtie’ cost him three months hiding out in the Appalachians he would never get back. He would have still taken the job, he just would have been sure to use a rifle instead of his calling card arrow.  

Taking out the Black Widow, though? He wanted his name all over that. He’d be infamous if he could pull it off.

If.

Yeah, it was way past iffy now.

They were both on separate sides of the warehouse. His warehouse. She had tracked him here. He had barely watched her for a day and she was already hunting him down. He was both terrified and slightly turned on; but that could just have been the adrenaline kicking in.

It was hard not to be awed by her. Graceful, deadly and one hell of a body count.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Clint called across the room. Which was true. He could have shot her when he first saw her earlier that day, he hadn’t been planning on it being a secret. ‘Let the world know’ kind of thing. But he had been looking a bit closer into her past kills. They were all over the place, didn’t make any sense, until he actually started grouping them. She was being blamed for a lot of kills she probably didn’t do. The timeline alone told that story.  And a lot from before she was even born, because there was no way this woman was older than thirty tops. Not that anyone seemed to care. From what he could see she was going after dirtbags just like him. More ruthlessly, sure, she was not shy about the torture, but, again, they were dirtbags, so Clint didn’t feel too bad for them.

But besides all of that, he had also seen her from a distance and that was his best vantage point. He’d seen the way her eyes softened when she had noticed some kids playing, how her eyes briefly closed when she heard a song on the radio, seemingly caught in a good memory. The weary resignation when she turned in the direction she needed to go. No. He definitely did not want to kill her.

Her voice drifted back across, “Then you’re a fool.”

Clint smiled, “Sounds about right.” He notched an arrow and let it fly. U-turning in the air it lodged itself in the pillar, by his estimation, right next to her head.

“Don’t want to kill me, huh?” she snarked. He couldn’t even hear the surprise in her voice. She was good. There was no way she had been expecting that.

Clint scoffed, “You don’t sound dead.”

There was a moment's pause, “How did you do that?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the amazing Hawkeye. I never miss.”

“That’s probably why they chose you. I’ve been killing everyone else they’ve sent after me. You fit the mold; skilled, self assured, expendable.”

Was he supposed to deny that? She was still right on the money.

“But now you’re claiming you want to back out? Do you have any idea what they will do to you if you break the contract?”

“Unpleasant things I imagine.” Clint kept a sharp eye out. There was a lot of talking going on and he was used to it just being him filling the air. “Maybe even take a contract out on me too.”

“If you are very lucky.”

Clint shrugged even though she couldn’t see him, “I’m feeling pretty lucky, how about you?”

There was another long pause, “What are you hoping to get out of this exchange?”

“You,” he said, honestly, “You’re cool. I wanna watch your back.”

“And my front, I imagine, and anything else I’ll let you.”

“That sounds like it could be fun but really I just want to partner up and kill bad guys. Can you imagine how unstoppable we’d be together; you, up close in there face and me, death from above?”

“You really are a fool.”

He was still getting used to her voice but he could hear slight exasperation, sounding more fond than frustrated. This was going well then.

“That never misses. It almost completely cancels out the fool part.”

Clint imagined her smiling in response before freezing as the the sharp edge of a blade pressed against his throat.

Now he was definitely turned on.

“You are amazing,” he breathed, “I didn’t even see you move. Did you just move really fast or have you been throwing your voice?”

“Does it matter? You’ll be dead soon anyway.”

The fear was completely gone. He’d never felt so confident about anything in his life. “You’re not going to kill me.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“You already named that off as one of my best qualities,” he said, very slowly holding up three fingers, then ticking them off. “Self assured and every right to be because I am skilled. I know you’ve heard of me. All of the good stuff is true. When I say I never miss, I mean it. And, maybe my most important feature, I am very expendable.”

The knife shifted. “I don’t need you.”

“I said expendable, not useless. But we can debate that later. That’s not what’s saving my life right now.”

She hummed, so he continued.

“You like me.”

“Do I?” she purred in his ear.

There was the fear again.

“I’m pretty sure? Else why are we talking?”

This time he could actually feel her smile, “You are the most observant fool I’ve ever met.”

“And I never miss,” Clint couldn’t help adding again, “it cancels out the fool.”

Clint could swear she almost laughed that time, “We’ll see.”

  


**_~With a redhead ridin' shotgun And a pistol by my side, tearin' down that highway like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde~_ **

They were perfect together. Unstoppable, just like he thought they would be. A year into their partnership and they were infamous; and he didn’t even have to kill her to get it.

Natasha had an agenda which mainly involved killing anyone who had anything ever to do with the Red Room. He was more than happy to help her with that as long as they still took paying jobs on the side. Vengeance wasn’t going to buy him supplies for his arrows.

From what she had told him about the Red Room it was clear it needed to go down. Brainwashing children and training them to be assassins? Since it was Nat’s past she got to make the call. It was one of their agreements. If they ever happened to run into anyone from the circus Clint would be in charge. Not that either of them had gone into too many details about their pasts. Just the need to know basics. Things would slip though, mainly on Clint’s part. He was pretty sure Nat only ever told him things she absolutely meant to reveal. That didn’t mean he didn’t notice things. He was Hawkeye after all.

Not just that she liked rainbow sprinkles on her ice cream or how she would sometimes twirl like a dancer when he was in the other room. But like how he was starting to believe she was a bit older than she looked...by a few decades. Or the handcuffing herself to her bed thing. Since they slept in separate rooms most of the time he had accidentally stumbled upon that one and it wasn’t something he was planning on bringing up ever. Or the silent nightmares he only noticed because she would go completely stiff. Screw the Red Room, they all needed to die.

Clint propped his feet on the dash of the car they’d stolen from long term parking. “Why do you always act that way around the Red Room people anyway?”

At the wheel, Natasha looked like some 1950’s leading lady with her sunglasses and scarf,a relaxed smile as the wind blew around her. “I assume you mean me touching you.”

“And the purring your words at me. I get it's an act, but why?”

“If they believe I’m manipulating you-”

“With sex.”

“That will be assumed, yes. Then you will be underestimated. They think little of men who are so easily influenced.”

“I was not easy,” Clint scoffed, “We didn’t have sex until... I don’t even how many jobs we’d been on.”

“It was after the first Red Room facility.”

“Well yeah, but that was like two months in. So, I’m not easy.”

“I thought you were going to cry.”

Clint sputtered, glaring at Nat’s smirk, “I was, from laughing so hard at all the fart noises. How very unladylike.”

 

 

**_~Yeah, I live for little moments, when she steals my heart again and doesn't even know it. Yeah, I live for little moments like that~_ **

“We are never going to Budapest again,” Clint coughed, holding onto the inflatable as they floated down the river.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Natasha said from the other end.

“They were going to chop off my hands!”

“You did steal from them.”

“And cut out my tongue!”

“At one point I was starting to agree with them, you just wouldn’t shut up, Clint.”

Clint dropped his head, letting it bounce against the air filled tube, “They broke my bow.”

“And now they’re dead,” Natasha said, darkly, before turning light, “Looks like they learned a valuable lesson.”

Clint barked out a laugh, “You told another joke! I’ve got to add that to the tally.”

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

“What do you call this?”

Clint swallowed, “ Slumgullion. Staple meal in the circus.”

“It’s disgusting.”

Clint smiled as she shoveled another spoonful into her mouth. “I also learned how to make Borscht, if you wanted that instead.”

Nat groaned, “Why is it always Borscht? Is that really the only Russian dish American’s know about?”

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

It's an up close job, entry and exit points differ and sniper coverage would be too suspicious and unnecessary,” Nat said, pulling on an army green top over her bullet proof vest.

“Then I’ll come with you inside. I have before.”

She released a long suffering sigh.

“What’s the problem,” he asked, “We train together, you’ve taught me half my moves.”

“All.”

“Half is being generous.”

“Then that's at least half of your hand to hand you can’t use. They can’t know our identities. This can’t be traced back to us, therefore….” she drew it out waiting for him to get it as she adjusted her short, bleach blonde wig.

“We can’t fight like us.”

“It would mean no bow, knives, bites, -“

“No using people's neck like a stripper pole?” At her withering look he continued, “You use that move a lot, Nat.”

“You understand why you can’t come then?”

“I said I’d watch you back so I’m not leaving you hanging now. I’ve got this covered.”

He pulled out his bow case and opened the hidden compartment next to his trick arrows, pulling out the twin katanas. 

He had never seen Natasha truly surprised before that moment. And it wasn’t until they were strapped to his back and he was securing the throwing stars that she finally spoke.

“You’re Ronin.”

“I told I’m skilled.”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” she accused.

“No, we just haven’t needed him. I try and make sure that there’s no crossover between my identities. One uses bow, the other swords.” He found jobs for Ronin when he needed to and only ever brought the swords out for a job or to keep his skills sharp. He definitely didn’t tell her how dark his thoughts became when he was Ronin. How he automatically fell back into the mindset that Jacq had trained into him and would often wonder if the man would be pleased at how Clint turned out. How sometimes it was just easier to be the sword wielding assassin.

“Ronin is brutal.”

He slipped on the hood and mask, “I can be brutal.”

“Apparently,” she said, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Fine, you can come.”

“I was coming anyway.”

She went on like a hadn’t said a thing, “And when we get back,” she came up behind him and whispered in his ear, “leave that on.” 

He shivered as she left to finish getting ready. “You kinky woman. As long as you keep that wig on so I can rip it off,” he hollard after her. 

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

“Most of the girls in the Room were Blank,” Nat said, out of the blue while they sat in a coffee shop, tailing a bagman.

Clint followed her gaze to a sign advertising jewelry engraved with soulmark words.

“Soulmarks were a complication they would rarely want to deal with, so it was easier to just find soulless girls to train.”

He felt his disgust grow at the idea of how easy that idea would be to warp them. “You have a soul, Nat.”

When she didn’t respond he continued, “There are plenty of assholes with marks and plenty of good people without. It didn’t mean anything beyond a control tactic.”

She gave him a familiar look of fond exasperation, “I know that, Clint. It doesn’t change how true it felt at the time.”

Or even now, Clint thought.

“Hey, you know what would be a good idea?” Clint asked, cheerfully, “Finding some more of those people and killing them very slowly.”

The man at the table over looked up, his eyes wide.

They had to leave quickly after that but Natasha had smiled, so it was a win.

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

“What is this?”

Clint looked up from where he was packing to see Nat holding out the arrow necklace he had hidden in her bag, “A necklace. I had it made for you.”

“I can see that but that doesn’t change my question,” she jiggled it at him, “What is this?”

For once Clint was able to look at her like she was missing something obvious, “You’re my best friend Nat, I just wanted to get you something nice, something simple that wouldn’t draw attention since it wouldn’t be for jobs. It’s just...it’s for you.”

“An arrow?” An eyebrow lifted, “Staking a claim?”

Clint’s face went red, “Just to remind you of me,” he muttered.

Natasha frowned at it.

Clint sighed, “If you unscrew the arrowhead its attached to a needle soaking in a paralytic mixture housed in the shaft.”

Natasha’s smile reached her eyes, “It’s beautiful, help me put it on.”

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

Clint placed the shots down in front and Nat and immediately lifted one in a cheers, “Someone’s getting lucky tonight so don’t wait up,” and downed it.

Nat sighed as he grabbed his coat, “Don’t do this, Clint.”

He frowned as he slipped his arms through the leather, “Don’t what?”

“Be stupid,” she said, like it was obvious, “You don’t have to sleep with them just because they said your mark.”

Clint blinked, then smiled, “That’s pretty mean Nat, they’re also really hot, I could have slept with them anyway.”

She leaned back in her chair, looking unimpressed, “But you wouldn’t have. You were already moving on before they said anything. But then they said the magic word and, just like every other time, they were suddenly the only one in the bar.”

Clint stuck his hands in his pockets, already kicking himself because he knew it was a tell, “I don’t sleep with every person that say ‘Hey’ to me, Nat.”

“No you don’t, because not all of them are single, or straight, or gay, or interested.”

Clint looked down, “It’s not going to be a big deal when it happens for real anyway.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“So what’s the big deal now?” he asked, sounding stupidly defensive, “I’m just having some fun.”

“Are you?” Nat asked lightly.

Clint bent his tongue between his teeth, “So, what, I can’t sleep with people if they say my mark? “Hey’ is a pretty freaking common greeting.”

Nat didn’t say a thing, just continued to stare him down and he could easily hear the unspoken ‘don’t be stupid’.

Clint slumped and whined, “I was going to get laid, Nat,” before dropping his head with a huff, “What do you want me to do then?”

Nat smiled fondly as she got up, “I want you to go get me one of the girliest drinks they have, with the fruit on the rim of the glass and everything,” Clint groaned, “while I got scare off your suitor.”

“Oh come on, they didn’t do anything to deserve ‘Scary Natasha’!”

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

“I’m not saying you’re doing it wrong,” Clint said, going over his rifle as casually as possible. “I’m just saying I can make it look better.”

“This isn’t the circus. I’m going to a gala,” Natasha said, reaching for her blush, “Subtle is preferable to ‘doing a handstand on a moving horse’ eye catching.”

“I didn’t realize it was your makeup and not you skills that caught the mark.”

Nat slowly turned around, her face impassive, and he waggled his eyebrows at her. Oh yeah, he had a death wish.

She narrowed her eyes and held out her brush, “Challenge accepted.”

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

Clint pulled himself up onto the next branch. “We’re lucky this is an old tree, we can go all the way to the top.”

“Isn’t this a bit of a stereotype?” Nat asked, following after him.

“I think you mean ‘classic’. This is a classic childhood activity.”

“You still climb trees.”

“Because I didn’t grow up to be boring. All those adults down there walking around? Boring. You before you climbed this tree? Boring.”

“Me, climbing this tree; bored.

Clint stood up on the fork of the trunk, his head breaking through the top curtain of leaves. “You’re going to take that back as soon as you see this.”

He held out his hand and helped her up.

It took a moment but her features softened and a natural smile pulled at her lips.

“It’s a whole different experience when it isn’t used as a sniper nest, huh?”

He was rewarded with Nat rolling her eyes.

  


**_~My sweetest friend, everyone I know goes away in the end, and you could have it all, my empire of dirt, I will let you down~_ **

“I wanted to thank you again for the necklace,” Nat said from the doorway.

Clint’s hands faltered a split second as he sat on the bed working on the fletching of an arrow. It was rare that Nat thanked him for anything, not liking to acknowledge debt, but he was never thanked twice.

He glanced up warily, “You’re welcome?”

“It was very thoughtful. We should have a matching set.”

His unease grew, “I...you know I don’t really wear jewelry.”

She walked over to him. “More noticeable on men. Less practical to hide weapons in them.” She paused then reached up to his right ear, “You’ve got the earrings though.. I could get you a cuff with the Widow symbol on it...unless you already have something inscribed on one of them.”

Shit. She definitely knew about the necklace. The ingraving was near invisible but of course she had found it.

“No, I don’t have anything on them.” Clint wanted to smack himself. Why had he said it like that. Looking at Nat he could see she had caught it as well.

“You’ve never been able to lie to me, Clint. Where is it?”

Clint shook his head, opening his mouth to...what was he even going to say? She was right. He was crap at trying to keep things from her.

“Where?” She demanded.

He worried his lip and looked away, “Bottom of my foot.”

“Show me.”

Reluctantly he took the sock off his right foot and turned it over. There is was, **Then you‘re a fool.** about the same color as his hair, in her handwriting, tattooed along his arch.

There was a long pause and Clint kept his gaze away, not wanting to see her expression.

He could still hear her frustration, though, when she finally spoke, her voice clipped, “Those words seem particularly appropriate right now.”

“I figured you’d appreciate it there.” He tried, flippantly, looking at her, but it quickly turned placating, “It’s an inconspicuous place. No one will see it.”

She continued to stare at the words, allowing him to see the calculation in her gaze, before saying, “I’m not yours, Clint.”

His answer was automatic, “Yes, you are.”

Between one second and the next Natasha went completely loose and Clint went rigid in response, knowing she only did that when she was ready to attack. The was suddenly a tension in the room that hadn’t even been present during their first meeting in the warehouse.

“I’m not your soulmate,” she said, her voice carefully measured.

He shot to his feet, “Then the universe missed one,” he snapped, surprising not only himself but Natasha as well. “Billions of soulmates and it was bound to screw up at some point. It puts people together that are bad for each other, I don’t see why it wouldn’t miss some that are good for each other.”

He deflated, “I mean, you don’t belong to me, Nat. Of course you don’t. When I say you’re mine it means the opposite. I belong to you. Your words are on me.” It felt like he was begging her to understand. He needed her to or something was going to happen he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He tried to hold her gaze but her eyes shifted away to random points as she began working things out in her mind.

He waited several long moments until she looked to him again and his chest tightened when he realized he couldn’t read her.

Slowly, she closed the distance between them, pulling the arrow out of his hand and setting it aside as she slid into his lap, straddling him.

“So, I’m yours. But you’re not mine?”

Clint swallowed as his panic began to rise, “What?”

She lifted her hand and he took a deep breath to steady his breathing, staying as still as he could when she ghosted her fingers over his neck and collar, mirroring were the necklace hung around her own neck.

“My words are on your skin but you gave me a necklace, something to throw away if necessary, you even gave it a purpose that might necessitate me disposing of it. Yet you took the time to give it a very expensive type of engraving that you were hoping I wouldn’t notice.”

She was figuring something out that he didn’t even know. It couldn’t be good if he was panicking like this.

Nat ran her fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes, leaning into her hand. She knew he loved it when she touched him. It didn’t even have to be like this. Leaning on him during a movie. Tucking her feet underneath him. It had started out as her way of testing the water, checking his reaction, learning more about him, but it had become instinctual on her part; she ended up comforting herself as much as she did him. His favorite was when she unconsciously traced random designs across his arm. He was positive she didn’t know about that habit at all. But this, what she was doing now, was very intentional. She was using what she knew against him, to give herself the upperhand. It was breaking his heart but he still didn’t have it in him to make her stop.

“You expect me to get rid of it, eventually. What else is there to conclude but you believe that I am yours but you are not mine?”

There was barely a breath between them now and she waited until he opened his eyes, their lips almost touching, when he couldn’t hold back a plea of, “Nat,” before she finished.

“And you’re right.”

He flinched to hear it said out loud even though he’d known it from the beginning. But he didn’t have time to wallow as she pulled him into a kiss. It was gentle and slow and not anything they had done before. The few times they had fallen into bed together had been after a mission, when they were still high on adrenaline. It was hard and bruising and fun and it didn’t mean anything outside of the moment. This was more like what he imagined making love felt like.

Except, more than that, it felt like goodbye.

He wanted to beg her to stay, for her to give him a chance to fix what he had broken, but he kept silent. She was willing to give this to him, so he would let her, even if it was out of pity. What else could it be? She pitied his reliance on her, his desperation to connect with her. So she was giving him one last connection, but on her terms. It could have been anything besides sex but she chose this because it was one of her weapons, a tool to use when needed. He couldn’t help feeling like a mark, having her put on a show to make him feel better. He only ever got what she wanted to give and this time it was a goodbye.

He held her tight afterward, to try and prevent what he knew was coming. But he was too comfortable. He felt too safe with her so he eventually fell asleep. The next morning she was gone. And soulmate or not, she took a piece of him with her.

>>\------->      >>\------->    <\-------<< <\-------<<

Clint slid in next to the man at the bar, “Hey.” He waited, but there was no bite from his soulmark.

The guy turned and gave Clint an appreciative once over and smiled back, “Hey.”

He pushed the disappointment aside and smirked. It was good enough.

  
  
  
  


 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read chapter three as soon as I posted it you might have missed something. A scene didn't get copied so I had to add it later. Also, there is a banner on the first chapter that I finally figured out how to add.  
> And what the crap?! My entire first paragraph for chapter one was missing?

 

 

 

 

 **_~A fugitive must be a rolling stone, down every road there's always one more city, I'm on the run, the highway is my home~_ **   
Clint felt numb for a while after Natasha left. Searching bars for someone to say his mark didn’t make it any better, so he ended up stopping that particular coping mechanism. Jobs weren’t as fun without her, safehouses felt empty, which was all a new kind of frustration since he had done just fine with himself before she came along. Hawkeye disappeared from the market for a few months, all he took were jobs for Ronin. Those months were not his finest moments and once he started thinking straight again he was glad they weren’t linked to Hawkeye.

He was only a few contracts into being Hawkeye again when Natasha contacted him about a Red Room job. Clint, like the idiot he was, got hopeful, up until they met in person and she told him she would wire him his payment. It wasn’t a problem since she knew some of his accounts already.

His chest was tight when he looked her dead in the eye, “If you try and pay me for any of these jobs I’ll never work with you again.”

After a brief pause she agreed, didn’t even argue with him, he meant it and she could probably tell.

They did the job and went their own ways.

But then she kept calling him for jobs. Not all the time and only for the Red Room, but that meant something at least, that she still trusted him to have her back with something that was so personal for her.

  
  


**_~You've got a way to keep me on your side, you give me cause for love that I can't hide, for you I know I'd even try to turn the tide, because you're mine, I walk the line~_ **

Laying on a roof with a hole in his leg came as a surprise. He knew SHIELD had been keeping an eye on him for a few years now but he had done a pretty good job evading them in the past. They hadn’t even come close when Natasha was still running with him. So maybe this made sense, he must have gotten complacent. He had gotten too used to having her there to watch his back.

Clint was even more shocked when the suit didn’t immediately put a bullet in his head but instead started offering him a job. He’d had discussions with Natasha in the past about going legit. Their skills were valuable and they weren’t complete heartless monsters, a point that had been more difficult to get Natasha to believe, and he was sure if they got word to the right people they could get set up with a reputable organization. Clint certainly hadn’t been expecting an offer out of the blue, with no effort on his part.

“We have already drawn up, what I believe to be, very reasonable contracts for both of you.”

Well, shit. Clint hoped that wasn’t a deal breaker.

“While that is tempting, the Widow isn’t actually here to accept, so you’re stuck with little old me.”

The agent frowned at him. Was that confusion?

“We don’t actually work together all that much right now.”

Clint was telling the truth, dammit, why did the guy look like he didn’t believe him?

Clint continued, “Maybe we could meet up another time? Give me a chance to track her down, relay your message?” Yeah, right. Natasha had already made her view on this clear, there was no way she would-

“I have killed others for doing less to him.”

Clint didn’t jump when Natasha emerged from the shadows behind the agent, her gun trained on the man, but he couldn’t help himself from looking a bit gobsmacked, because what the hell was she doing there?

“I’m aware,” Agent Suit said. He kept his gun pointed at Clint but Natasha clearly had the majority of his attention now, his eyes following her as she slowly made her way around him. “A necessary but hopefully not fatal decision on my part; you two have been difficult to get ahold of to talk.”

“And you felt shooting him was your best bet at an unbiased conversation? You may have miscalculated, Agent Coulson.”

“Maybe,” Agent, apparently Coulson mussed, his eyes traveling down her form as she passed.

Was the suit checking her out? Clint wouldn’t blame him, but still. No, his glance was higher. Clint followed his line of sight to Natasha’s throat and blinked in surprise. She was wearing the necklace. But she came dressed to fight, so this was intentional. He willed his brain to move faster, he needed to catch up to go along with whatever her plan was. This was a show for SHIELD. Not the same message as the Red Room, she would have been all over him.

The necklace was the key. It was obviously referring to Clint, so she was the one playing compromised this time. That was risky. Everyone knew the Widow was never compromised. But, from their perspective, possible. The Black Widow had never had a consistent partner before but she had worked with Hawkeye for almost two years before they split up and not only was he alive but they still sometimes worked together.

But why the show?

“We’ve been hearing rumors.”

“I’ve been hearing the same,” Natasha said, sounding very unconcerned, “Ridiculous, of course, since I’m Blank.”

“Of course,” Agent Coulson agreed, but he was looking at her neck again and where she was now positioned between him and Clint and….Holy shit.

She wasn’t playing compromised, she was playing soulmates.

They were surrounded, there were few options out of this that didn’t end bloody and none with them walking away without making SHIELD a permanent enemy. Why would the Black Widow put herself in such a position? She never had before, not for anyone. So, who else for but a soulmate? Apparently there were even rumors about their supposed marked relationship. Was that why they were even offering? A guaranteed set?

But they weren’t soulmates, Clint reminded himself, and she had come anyway; put herself on the roof with him instead of taking out the other agents. This, this was an exit strategy.

Clint got to his feet by himself. He wouldn’t normally expect her to help him up in front of anyone and acting normal was the way to go in order for this to work.

He smiled, “Look at us being all friendly and not killing each other. I think we’re already taking some big steps toward bonding… and... trust?” He shook his head, “No, probably not that far yet. So, Agent Suit,” he said, getting as much attention, from a man that had the Black Widow pointing a gun at him, as he could, “You mentioned a job opportunity?”

Beside him Natasha tensed, like he knew she would. He was reading this right.

Clint would take them in. The Black Widow had followed him into a trap and she would follow him to the other side. Just like she wanted.

  
  
  


**_~Well, I'll bet you I'm a-gonna be a big star, might win an Oscar you can't never tell, the movie's gonna make me a big star, 'cause I can play the part so well...And all I gotta do is act naturally~_ **

It wasn’t actually hard to convince SHIELD they were soulmates, all they had to do was deny it and have each other’s back. They insisted on separate quarters and refused to show anyone their marks or be registered. Why would they? They weren’t soulmates, *wink wink*. SHIELD had already done most of the work themselves, listening to the rumors and making assumptions based on what they knew about the Black Widow. Clint wasn’t going to correct them. Natasha played the role they concocted for her, which only made her ease around Clint more apparent and reinforced the idea in their minds that the members of the newly minted Strike Team Delta were soulmates.

Clint took a different approach to the entire situation; he just never gave a straight answer and left things heavily implied. Really it was all just him having fun and being himself. Only, people didn’t seem to understand what him being himself fully meant until someone was stupid enough to mess with Nat. You’d think members of a covert agency would have more common sense than to bad talk the Black Widow in her presence but there was a stupid rumor, that kept popping up with new agents (someone was obviously trying to get the poor suckers killed), that he and Nat were given the choice between SHIELD and jail and they had to be on their best behavior...or else.

Nat handled most situations herself but sometimes she knew Clint was nearby or coming and was amused when he would inevitably weigh in. So when he danced over in the cafeteria, singing the opening verse to Buddy Holly, she only rolled her eyes. When he threw a knife pinning one of the offending agents to their table by their sleeve, Clint never missed a beat, locking eyes with them as he pulled out the knife, then twirled Nat out of her seat and out of the room. Clint wasn’t offended when he later heard that the Black Widow twirling was somehow the scariest part of all that.

Not to say he didn’t inspire a certain amount of caution, just not for anything he did around the SHIELD bases. He smiled, he was approachable, he made people laugh; there was no way he was going to screw up this chance for Natasha and him. He hadn’t been able to pull it off with the fosters but he wasn’t a kid anymore and he’d be damned if he didn’t make these people keep them this time.

That plan came second to Nat though, most things did, so he wasn’t surprised when he had to pick up  pieces and start over again in some areas when word spread about what happened in Budapest.

He told Nat that he hadn’t wanted to go back there, explained it to Agent Coulson as well. But noooobody listened to Clint. The debrief afterward sucked. He couldn’t adequately explain why he had, instead of apprehending and questioning him like he was ordered, shot an arrow into the former Red Room scientist’s mouth and pinned him to a wall.

Clint had no regrets. When he had gotten there, Natasha was trembling on the ground, her eyes going glassy, and the only thing he saw that could be causing such a reaction was whatever the scientist was saying to her with that self satisfied smile on his face. Nat had warned him that she could still have imbedded triggers, so an arrow to the face was the least the bastard was going to get.

Clint knew that not everyone was completely convinced about the soulmate angle, Coulson being one of them. But he knew he at least made the man second guess his doubts when he leaned across the table and snarled, “She’s mine,” as his final explanation.

Coulson had ended the debrief soon after that, allowing Clint to get back to his partner.

When Nat was finally released from psych and medical he didn’t try too hard to hide his care. Clint tended to have a nervous energy most of the time, that he usually directed into snark, jokes and, well, most of the annoying character traits people complained about. It only got worse in situations like this that left him thinking, what if he wasn’t fast enough, what if he had missed?

The other thing was, he had never seen Nat helpless like that before. Hurt? Shot? Yes. Bleeding out even, but never helpless; so he hovered. And was probably a newly discovered level of annoying.

But Nat wore her necklace in public more and traced patterns on his skin in private. So, Clint was content.

SHIELD believed what they wanted and he never had to fake a thing.

  
  


**_~You can't trust anyone, I was so sure what I needed was more, tried to shoot out the sun, days when we raged, we flew off the page, such damage was done, but I made it through, 'cause somebody knew I was meant for someone ~_ **

“Hold on, Clint,” Nat commanded, turning the wheel and speeding down another street.

“Sure,” Clint moaned, clutching at the quarrel sticking out of his gut, “sounds easy enough.”

“It is,” Nat assured lightly, “you haven't met your soulmate yet, you can’t die.”

That didn’t sound right, “I already met you.”

“Your real soulmate, дурачить.” (Fool)

“Oh, yeah.” Clint looked down at the quarrel, “Barney shot me.”

“Yes,” Natasha growled, “he did.”

“He stabbed me last time.”

“Я позабочусь о нем.” (I’ll take care of him)

“Nat, no.” His vision started to get hazy. “He was scared.”

“Of you?” Her laugh cut through the buzz building in his ears, “you would never hurt him if you could help it.”

“He’s my brother.”

“I don’t think he cares.”

Yeah, that sounded right, but still. “You don’t know him, he didn’t want to hurt me this time.”

He couldn’t keep her in focus but her voice was tight, “And yet he did.”

Clint tried to roll his eyes but ended up struggling to keep them open. “I’ve shot at you for missions before.”

“‘Shot at’, Clint,” she snapped “you never actually hit me.”

She sounded scared.

Barney was really lucky she was too worried about Clint to go after him.

“Thanks for not killing my brother.”

Natasha laughed, he must have started hallucinating because it sounded slightly hysterical. “Of course you’re thanking me. Why wouldn’t you? If he had stubbed his toe you would have wanted me to help him first.” She went off, muttering a string of Russian he couldn’t follow, and for some reason was making him dizzy.

He tried again, “Thanks.”

“He doesn't deserve you.” Clint was pretty he imagined the “No one does,” before sighing, “You’re too forgiving.”

That sounded familiar. “That’s what I thought about my mom.”

“And look what happened to her.” It was followed quickly by a repentant, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Hmm, Nat never apologized.

Clint felt himself sinking into the vehicle’s seat. She didn’t understand.

“She didn’t learn her lesson,” he heard himself say.

There was a pause, “Excuse me?”

“You’re suppose to learn something from your soulmate. But she kept doing the same thing instead of leaving, she didn’t learn it right. Or she was suppose to die.”

The silence was longer this time. “Clint…”

“They could be a nurse.”

“Who?”

“My soulmate.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nat adjust her hands on the steering wheel. “I won’t let anyone talk to you. You’re going to be fine.”

“People try that all the time, it never works, not if it’s time.”

“Stop with the destiny talk Clint, I’m trying to comfort you, so shut the hell up! Why are you laughing?”

“Ow,” Clint moaned, laughing was so bad when you were impaled. His head lolled to the side so he could actually see her and he tried to smile, “You love me.”

She shook her head, “You are completely unbelievable.”

“You love me so much.”

She glanced over at him, her face a mask and her eyes fierce, “We’re three blocks away from the hospital, you’re not going to die and if anyone talks to you they’re going to wish elinguation was still a legal punishment for deathbed matches.”

That sounded horrible. She loved him, “Sooooo, much.”

  
  


**_~Comb your hair and paint and powder you act proud and I'll act prouder, you sing loud and I'll sing louder tonight we're settin' the woods on fire, you're my gal and I'm your feller dress up in my frock and yeller, I'll look swell but you'll look sweller settin' the woods on fire~_ **

Going out clubbing or hanging out at bars with other SHIELD agents was surprisingly wild; but their lives could be quite serious so it must have been a work hard, play hard kind of deal.

He’d tried to hook up with Bobbi a few times but trying to explain that Natasha was ‘cool with it’ never went over well. He and Nat hadn’t had sex since that last time before she left, not that either of them seemed the least bit tempted. That last time had changed things between them and not necessarily in a bad way. They shared a bed more often than not on missions, touch was still a comfort, but sex was simply off the table now. None of this could be explained away without revealing too much, so basically anyone at SHIELD was off limits and he was back to finding one night stands at bars. Or he would be if he could find anyone interesting; Clint just hadn’t been feeling it for awhile now. Luckily the other agents were actually fun to be around and they usually ended up having a blast.

A contender for top three moments had to be when Nat had pretended to be Coulson’s ex-girlfriend. She didn’t even warn the poor guy, just came up acting drunk, begging him to take her back. Before Clint had escorted her out to ‘get a cab’ she had the ladies at the bar believing Coulson was responsible for the best sex of her life. They left him to fend for himself while the other agents quietly died of laughter in the corner booth.

Tonight though, it was just him and Nat, soon to be just him.

He leaned closer to Nat to be heard over the music, “Go for it.”

She quirked her eye at him.

He nodded to the bar, “Tall, dark and dreamy. I saw him buy you a drink. He must have had a doozy of a line because you actually looked charmed.”

“He is tempting.”

“But?”

“But nothing, I’m thinking about it. And you? Anyone catch your ear tonight?”

Clint took a drink of his beer, basically telegraphing his discomfort, “I don’t actually do that anymore.”

“I’m aware, at least three people have said ‘Hey’ to you tonight and you didn’t even blink. Did you even notice?”

“Honestly? No. I finally figured it was too common to get work up about every time. What’s the point, you know?”

Nat hadn’t taken her eyes off of him, “There’s plenty of other people here who have shown an interest. Do you need me to be your wingman?”

“Trying to get me laid Nat?”

“Maybe. You’ve been on a bit of a bit of a dry spell since coming to SHIELD.”

Before he could respond she continued. “I’m sorry for my part in that.”

Clint couldn’t help looking at her in surprise.

“They never would have believed me wanting to come in, they needed to be the ones to make the offer, to think they had the upper hand.”

Clint frowned, “Are you the one that started the rumors?”

She tilted her head, “People were already deciding to put pieces together, I just…”

“Encouraged it?”

Nat’s hand motion was unrepentant.

“You don’t have to apologise for anything Nat,” he sighed, “I’d already been trying to convince you to do this for a while and if that was the way it was going to work, then I’m good. You’re here, I’m here. My sex life can take a hit.”

“Except, Clint, it was already taking a hit before we joined SHIELD.”

Before SHIELD, after her. She had been keeping an eye on him. He tried to ignore the implication. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

He huffed when she neither agreed nor disagreed.

“I wasn’t really in that best place after you left, I made some bad choices, which you already know since you were apparently spying on me.”

“You didn’t stop because of me.”

“Could you stop analyzing me for once, Nat? Sex is sex. What does it matter?”

“I agree, sex is sex. It’s a means to an end. And you’re upset I just said that.”

Clint worried his tongue, “Well, Nat, we’ve had sex together, so I’m trying not to take it personally.”

“Good, you shouldn’t. It’s a means to an end for everyone. Physical pleasure, control, submission, distraction, human contact, money.”

“It’s also an expression of love,” he defended.

“That’s an emotional description of something I already said. But your point is moot since you didn’t love any of them.”

He paused. “It wasn’t the same with you, Nat.”

“No, the emotions were different, but your reasons were the same.”

He stared at the table and forced a laugh out as he shook his head, “You know, Nat, sometimes you are very good at being a heartless bitch.”

“Practical bitch,” Nat corrected, “And, yes I am.”

“But not as emotionless as you want people to believe. You left out a purpose; pretending.”

Nat frowned.

Clint nodded to the man at the bar, “You have a type.”

Nat glanced over, her eyes narrowing.

“Nothing obvious. But I’m Hawkeye, so I noticed. They remind you of someone and it's definitely not me or you’d be leaving with losers and I might just get offended.”

She turned her attention back to him looking unimpressed by his tactic but also amused. “Sometimes I do forget how observant my fool is and you end up surprising me like this.”

“How are you surprised when I’m amazing? The _Amazing_ Hawkeye, it’s literally in my title.”

Nat turned thoughtful, “Alright, you told me one of my reasons, so I will concede that Hawkeye is amazing, if you can also tell me your reason.”

Clint folded his tongue and fiddled with his bottle, “Since I didn’t come to a bar for introspection, I guess I’ll just stick with the Surprising Hawkeye.”

Nat’s smile was a little sad, “My turn for the next round?”

“You’re not going to go off and play pretend?”

Her smile softened and became fond, “There is one person I don’t have to pretend with and I’d actually like to continue drinking him under the table tonight.”

Clint flopped back in his chair, an easy smile growing, “You say things like that and for some reason people just take your word for it. You have never drank...drunk? Drunk me under any table, or anyone else for that matter and I’m going to prove it tonight. We are going to order shots and I am not taking my _surprising_ eye off you, so there will be no sneaky spy stuff and it will be you under the table. Because you, Nat, are a lightweight and the world will finally know.”

  
  
  


**_~You're shaking things up like you wouldn't believe, crashing my comfort zone, setting me free, it's a "who would've thought?", "you'd never dream" kind of thing...ink it in on my skin, sign me up, make it last against the time~_ **

Nat laid across her couch reading a book, feet in his lap, while he flipped through her DVR. She was the first to get an official place off base, way classier than the apartment he had finally gotten a month ago in Bed Stuy. Like most of his decisions, Nat was completely unimpressed with the place and refused to visit him there, so on the rare occasion when they were both off mission he ended up chilling at her .

Things were settling into place in a way they never had before for Clint. Nat was here and happy. SHIELD gave a stability to his life that centered him and actually made him proud of what he did. He was starting to believe that maybe he wasn’t completely doomed after all.

A bare foot was suddenly wiggling in his face, forcing him to lean back or be smacked.

“Can I help you?” he asked the offending appendage.

Nat continued reading but the toes wiggled more emphatically.

“Would the lady like a massage?”

He rolled his eyes at her happy hum and repositioned himself so he could get a proper grip but stopped, his entire body freezing.

There, across the ball of her right foot, in his handwriting, were the words ‘ **I don’t want to kill you.** ’ They were the same color as her hair.

He stared stupidly at it, unable to fully process it until her toes started wiggling again, impatiently.

“Nat?” And, man, he sounded lost.

She hummed again.

No. This wasn’t an accident. She knew exactly where he was looking and she was trying to downplay it.

He drew his thumb over the words. They weren’t new. How long ago had she gotten this? If they weren’t new...she couldn’t have gotten them after they had joined SHIELD, they were being monitored too closely. It would have been too much of a risk to the plan.

So she had gotten them before the rooftop, when she had planned it out enough to know she would need to get one. But she didn’t need one. They still refused to show anyone their marks, had insisted that they didn’t have any, because they didn’t. They wouldn’t be real. A simple scan would show that.

His tattoo was never for a plan, he had put it on his foot specifically because no one would see it there. But hers was for the plan right? She had put it on her foot to copy his. The only time they were on base with bare feet was sometimes when they spared together. Had anyone seen them then? Had she made sure someone had seen them, made it look unintentional?

How had he missed something like this?

No, she wouldn’t do this. It was too permeant. It was one thing to manipulate people into believing it, but this would be proof, of a sort, not for a soulmate in the long run, but proof she was compromised, it could be used against her.

Why had she copied him and put it on her foot? Why did she even have it? It was why he had gotten her the necklace, so she wouldn’t...so she could...but she knew that already. She’d made sure to point it out. Clint wasn’t hers. She had said so. But there it was, on the ball of her foot, where turned to dance and spun to kill.

A tapping against his chest shook him out of his spiraling thoughts. He took a deep breath, realizing he had begun to hyperventilate.

Clint wasn’t hers but she had gotten the tattoo.

Why? Why would she do that?

His hands tightened around her foot, “Natasha,” he demanded.

Finally, she looked at him.

“If you ask me why,” she said dismissively, “I’m going to hit you.”

She tried to turn back to her book but he gave her leg a sharp tug and she, once again, looked at him.

She pursed her lips, her manner no longer dismissive. Possibly for the first time he’d ever witnessed, her eyes were purposefully open and unguarded. “If you ask me why,” she said again, softly, emphasizing each word, “I’m going to hit you, дурачить.”

His breath caught and he looked down, embarrassed, as his eyes watered. More rare than a thank you or an apology, were tears. If a situation warranted them then it usually also needed them to be strong, so tears were pushed aside or reserved to put on a show for a target .

He cradled her foot in his hands, his thumb continuously caressing the words. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he pled.

He felt her sit up, her legs bending and folding to bring her closer while allowing him to keep her foot. Gentle fingers moved through his hair, then held firm and pulled him forward until their foreheads touched.

They breathed each other in, then-

“Massage it.”

A laugh was startled out of him, but the dam was broken and it swiftly turned to sobs as he clung to her foot.

She slipped it out of his grip and took its place in his arms, bringing his head to her chest.

He felt her all around him, her heartbeat resonating through him. “Thank you again, Clint,” she whispered, holding him tight, “for the necklace.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just kept growing. But this one is over! One more chapter in What We Look for and then onto the actually two stories this has been building toward.
> 
> In regard to the ‘elinguation’ that Natasha mentions, it is a punishment where someone's tongue is cut out. I figured, in a world where people don’t die until they meet their soulmate, there might be some old superstitions and crazy laws created around cases where someone says their mark and immediately die afterward. Deathbed matches. It would have been medieval in origin but possibly lasting, in some countries, until the 1800’s or even early 1900’s.
> 
> Coming next: Steal My Heart and Hold My Tongue. Takes place during the time of 'Words to Live Your Life By'. Full of team interaction. It should be about five chapters.


End file.
